


Pas de Deux

by AlysanneBlackwood



Series: Fairy-Tales [3]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Fairy Tale Elements, Happy Birthday John Irving, Happy Ending, I don't know if you would appreciate this but once again I did my best, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Thank You Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Guillermo del Toro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlysanneBlackwood/pseuds/AlysanneBlackwood
Summary: A chance encounter one moonlit night leads to the formation of a relationship.(Happy birthday, Lt Irving.)
Relationships: Thomas Hartnell/Lt John Irving
Series: Fairy-Tales [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1421710
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Pas de Deux

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a debt to two things in the writing of this: Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's 1876 ballet 'Swan Lake', and Guillermo del Toro's 2017 film 'The Shape of Water.'
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING for a brief mention of hunting and animal death.

The lake had always been John’s refuge. In childhood he had taken his books with him and read Psalms and fairy-stories alike to the frogs and the fish, and to the birds who made their homes in the trees above. Now, though it was four months since his father had left the countryside to reside with Lewis and Catherine, he did not think himself lonely so long as he could find a single creature peering curiously at him from within its depths or reeds.

So it was that, on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, he found himself walking the familiar path through the faded woods. It had been a cold but snowless winter, and the world itself seemed forlorn, dressing in greys and browns which melted into a dull, glooming colourlessness. It was melancholic, and, John always thought, comforting as well. There was nothing surprising in the wood this time of year: no sudden, bright burst of colour to catch your eye, no birds singing in the trees to distract one from one’s purpose. The silence lent itself well to losing oneself in thought, and as John was often wont to do so, he found it more pleasant than ever that night. Ahead of him the trees parted their tall limbs to reveal the small lake, the moonlight waving pale across its black surface. As he drew nearer, he saw something on the far side of the water, far enough that he could not make out what it was at first, but when he came to the bank’s edge and the sight began to make its way closer, he retreated behind the closest tree. The swan was not so large, but even so the creatures were given to anger if bothered, and he preferred to watch them from afar. It did not seem to notice him, as it reached the bank and began to circle around the lake, keeping close to the shore as it went. It passed through a beam of moonlight, seeming almost to shine at first, and then -- John could hardly believe his eyes, for it happened so quickly -- the feathers began to fall from its wings, vanishing into the air before they could even land on the surface; the body suddenly began to lengthen, and the shining intensified until, in a flash of light so bright and blinding that John had to throw his arm over his face, the swan was gone. A young man now sat on the bank, his skin and hair dappled silver by the moonglow. John rubbed his eyes, and, realising that the man wore nothing at all, forced himself to look away. A moment passed wherein he heard a faint rustling, and then a soft, clear voice, carried by the cold breeze.

‘You can look now, if you want to.’

And what would he see, if he did? A bear, or a wolf, or some beast that was not of this country? A thing that was no animal at all, but a shapeshifter, a demon? The voice was human enough, true, but any creature of Hell could surely speak so; else, how would they fool anyone into heeding them? He ought to leave, he knew, and yet curiosity’s fingers were already closed around his wrist, tugging him round the tree-trunk; its voice was at his ear, whispering  _ one look, one small look cannot hurt, only a little glance, only a dart of your eyes and then you run. It will never see you at all.  _

But when he looked he did not make himself scarce, for there was no beast, no demon, no strange creature at all, only the man from before, now clad too thinly for the chill night. He caught John’s eye, and spoke again.

‘I promise I’m not here to trick you. I can’t change again until the sun rises.’

‘Change… into  _ what?’  _ The words left John’s lips in a nervous tone which pitched upwards towards the end, for he still half-believed that he had met some dreadful thing come to destroy him. 

‘What I was.’

John was about to conclude that he was either dreaming or mad, and run home as fast as his feet could carry him, when the man rose and walked to the tree, stepping round the trunk to stand in front of him. He was slight, John saw: his hair the colour of straw; his eyes a pale blue-grey, tapered in their shape and clear of any malice or cruelty. They gazed with an earnest, almost wistful look, and John found himself meeting them with his own, peering past the initial expression to what seemed to be a deep sadness. What could it be, John wondered, to make him such? The curiosity which had only pulled at him before now had him fully in its grasp, and before he knew it, he was asking another question.

‘And what are you?’ 

‘Sit with me, and I’ll tell you.’ The words held no hint of a ruse, only an honest hope which perhaps betrayed loneliness. Well, where was the harm in conversation, especially when this man seemed as alone as he was, and without any of the comfort he found in solitude himself? John nodded and the man turned on his heel, walking back towards the shore. He moved with the light, careful tread of a dancer, each step as deliberate and delicate as if he had been walking upon the water, and settled where he had first appeared. John sat beside him, and the man uncrossed his legs, letting his feet skim the surface. He seemed to have drawn into his mind, thinking of what to say first.

‘I don’t want to frighten you more than I already have,’ he said, after a moment. John shook his head.

‘You won’t,’ he said, and all of a sudden, it was true, for whatever this man said, it could not be any more astounding than what he had already witnessed that night. The man nodded, and, looking down into the water, began.

‘I’m Thomas. Tom.’ He lifted his hand to brush a lock of hair from his eyes, his skin catching the moonlight. John watched him, mesmerised by the fingers which in those few seconds could have been fashioned from pearl. ‘And all I know is that when the sun rises, I’m a swan, and when it sets, I’m a man. It’s the way we’ve -- I’ve always been.’

‘There are others like you?’

‘Yes.’ Tom’s smile did not reach his eyes. ‘My family. We’ve all gone our own ways now.’

‘So have mine.’ The breeze strengthened to a wind, and John drew his knees up to his chest. ‘How long have you been here? I’ve lived here my whole life and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.’

‘I came here only this week. Do they hunt here?’ Tom asked. ‘They hunted where I was before. It’s how--’ He stopped, then, and sighed. ‘I shan’t burden you with everything.’

‘No one hunts here. But please, tell me.’ John leaned forward. It was a great comfort to hear another person’s voice, and he felt that he would not mind whatever Tom had to say, as long as he kept on speaking. Perhaps he had been lonelier than he had thought. Tom hesitated again, and then spoke slower than before.

‘My brother,’ he said. ‘John. Half a year ago. We used to live in a pond near a town north of here, and the men liked to hunt around it. We knew to make ourselves scarce when they came, but they must have been keeping themselves silent that day, since neither of us heard them. They shot him; I tried to get him back to bury at night, but they drove me off. I couldn’t stay there after that. I’ve moved from place to place ever since.’

‘I’m sorry,’ John said, feeling that it was a poor thing to say but not knowing what else there was. ‘I can’t begin to -- I don’t know what I’d do, if it happened to one of my family.’

‘You have siblings?’

‘Six.’ John smiled when he remembered the ever-present chatter that had once filled his home. ‘My father couldn’t walk two feet in our house without tripping over someone, but he never minded it. He said it kept his mind sharp, to have so many of us to listen to. Do you have any others?’ he asked. ‘Other than your brother, I mean.’

‘Three others. Mary Ann, Charles and Betsy. They live elsewhere now; I wish I knew where, but we all moved around so much once we could. Mary Ann once flew off without a word and came back three days later, saying she’d been in Paris. I couldn’t tell whether my mother wanted to embrace her or murder her.’ He laughed then: a quiet sound, laden with memory. ‘John and I never cared to be alone much, so we stayed together. But then… well, I still don’t care for it. I’m glad that you saw me change,’ he said decisively. ‘It opened the way for a conversation.’ He raised his head at last, turning his eyes upon John. The melancholy had receded, replaced with an animated brightness. ‘You seemed so afraid when I spoke to you. Why didn’t you run?’

‘I tried to,’ John admitted. ‘I thought I should, but you didn’t seem to mean me any harm. And you looked lonely. I suppose I was right about that.’ Tom nodded, and looked up at the moon.

‘It’s very late now,’ he murmured, more to himself than to John.

‘Is it?’ John followed his gaze, though he could not tell time by the moon. 

‘Yes, nearly midnight.’ It was only now that John realised how tired he was. He had only left home because he was feeling restless as he so often did nowadays; intending a short walk, he had never thought to stay in the woods so long. Yet he wanted very much to stay, to hear more from this man who lived a life so different and yet so akin to his own. Still, he couldn’t keep his head from resting on his knees, and Tom noticed. ‘You can go home, if you want. But please, come back tomorrow. I want to hear more about you and yours.’ John looked down at the dead grass, terribly aware of how red his face must be turning. To have someone be so interested in him all of a sudden was a new and somewhat heady feeling, and he was not sure if he ought to be welcoming it. But he nodded.

‘I’ll come back. You don’t mind if I come during the day?’

‘Come when you want. I’ll listen either way.’ John nodded again, stood, and was entering the trees again when Tom called to him. ‘I’m so sorry. I never asked your name.’

‘John. John Irving.’ A glimmer of sadness crossed Tom’s face then, and John knew he must be thinking of his brother, with whom he regretted sharing a name although it couldn’t be helped at all. ‘Good night.’

‘Good night,’ Tom said, and as John went back into the darkness of the wood, he felt more content than he had in many months. The near-constant restlessness that had compelled him to leave the house had been soothed, at least temporarily.

When he reached home and slept, he did not dream. How could he, he would ask himself the next day, when he had already witnessed one before his own eyes, and spoken to one besides?

***

The next morning was a little colder than yesterday had been, and John was halfway through his breakfast when he remembered that it was his birthday. Ordinarily he would have gone about his tasks as usual, but now he decided that the proper way to celebrate would be to go down to the lake and speak with Tom. Or perhaps he would be the only one speaking, since he was not sure how they would converse. So once he had put his dishes away he donned his coat and scarf, took a book with him out of habit, and left the house.

By daylight the lake was far less picturesque; it being overcast, the surface was coloured a dull grey. Nevertheless John grinned to himself when he first made it out, for very far away he could see an almost imperceptible white shape, which he would not have seen had he not been looking for it. Tom was waiting for him. 

He sat by the shore, taking care to sit far enough away that he wouldn’t get wet. Tom, who had been settled on the other side of the lake, circled around to listen. John studied him a moment, as he had not been able to see him so well in his swan form the previous night. He was indeed smaller than the others John had seen come and go over the years, and in his eyes there was an intelligence, and an eager, humanlike attentiveness. John knotted his fingers together, thinking of where to start first.

‘You said your sister flew off to Paris for three days last night,’ he said. ‘My brother Lewis woke me once in the middle of the night to tell me he was running away. He wanted to visit a friend in Edinburgh, but my father wouldn’t let him; he said we didn’t have the time to go gallivanting off whenever we wanted, not while we were in school. So Lewis decided that he’d get there on his own -- and we’re quite far from Edinburgh right now, mind you. He would walk there if need be, he told me, and I begged him to take me, but he wouldn’t. I was too little, he said. I would spoil it. Well, I was seven and thought I had no choice. I told my father at once and he pulled Lewis from halfway out the window for a scolding. Lewis wouldn’t speak to me for three weeks afterwards, but I really did think I showed him that if he wanted to get up to any trouble I had to come along. I didn’t. He left again the next month and a farmer found him on the main road. I think if he hadn’t turned up before dark, my father would have had an apoplexy. It’s funnier now that they both live in Edinburgh. Father went to live with him and Kate -- that’s Lewis’s wife -- four months ago, since he needed a proper doctor for his heart and there aren’t really any around here. I mostly have to keep myself from injury.’ John stopped to catch his breath, and looked at Tom. He seemed to be listening attentively, his small, dark eyes alight with interest. ‘I thought that I wasn’t lonely before but now I think perhaps I have been. Last night, I felt -- lighter, somehow. More at peace with myself. I don’t really know how to say it.’

Tom lowered his head slightly, as if nodding, and they sat in silence a moment. ‘I can’t think of any more stories now,’ John told him, after a while. ‘Do you mind if I read?’

_ Would you read to me?  _ Tom’s voice suddenly spoke in his head, and John nearly jumped out of his skin.  _ Sorry. I must have thought at you. It’s how I used to converse with my family during the day. _

‘Oh.’ John sighed, relieved that he was not imagining the response. ‘Of course. Unless you have a particular hatred for children’s tales.’

_ I’ve never heard many. My parents didn’t know any of them, and it’s not as if this life gave us much time to read. Go on. _

John opened his book, a slim volume which had once belonged to his sister, to the page which held the table of contents. ‘There’s one that was my favourite, “The Prince Who Was A Doll.” Do you want to hear that one?’ Another lowering of the head, and so John began the story of the young prince who was enchanted by the evil mouse to become a doll in the real world, and only got his kingdom back when a girl received him as a gift and saved him from his fate. Tom was quiet for a while afterwards, but then asked a question.

_ What is it you liked about it so much, when you were a child? _

‘It’s such a straightforward story. Good defeats evil, simple as that. I think that I found it easier to fall into that kind of world rather than try to figure out the real one.’

_ I understand.  _ Tom’s voice sounded heavy.  _ A world where there’s a reason for everything, and everyone has their just reward. It’s a refuge, isn’t it? _

‘Yes.’ John turned back to the table of contents. ‘Do you want to hear another one?’

_ No, thank you. I’m getting a bit stiff being so long in one place, and I’d like to swim around, if you don’t mind. _

‘Not at all.’ Tom turned himself around and began to swim across the lake in a straight line; John watched him a while before lying down and watching the clouds as they grew slowly higher and thinner. Dusk fell before the sun had a chance to appear, but by the time the sun set there were a few pinprick-small stars in the sky. John studied them, searching for the corner or edge of a constellation. By now Tom had changed again, and lay beside him. When John allowed himself to look at him for the length of a heartbeat, he saw Tom’s eyes angled more towards him than the sky, and felt the familiar heat in his face again. ‘Alright,’ he said, sitting up, ‘I told you a story. Will you tell me one?’

Tom rested his chin on his hands. ‘You remembered what I said about Mary Ann. I did that too -- I didn’t leave out of nowhere like she did, but we all liked to fly by day and walk around cities by night. Last year John and I flew to Rome. All I remember now is how alive it was at night; the wind sounded like a thousand ghosts wailing. Maybe it was. It’s such an old city.’ He trailed off, lost in thought. ‘Do you believe in them? Ghosts.’

‘I was so sure I didn’t until last night. Now… now I honestly can’t say.’ John shrugged. ‘I’d have to see one to truly believe in it.’

‘Like you saw me.’ And a companionable silence followed.

This became their way: days and half-nights by the lake, and John soon found that to talk with Tom put him at so much ease that, when their conversations turned away from family and regular life and towards more intimate things, he did not close off as he so often had before. There was relief in being able to say words that had always stuck in his throat, and in hearing similar words spoken to him in Tom’s quiet, steady voice. After a time, as the month began to creep towards its end, there came a night when, in the enthusiasm of their conversation, John did not realise how close they had moved together until he looked down and saw Tom’s hand resting on top his own. It was a hand made cold from exposure, but all the same it sent a rush of warmth up John’s spine and set his heart knocking at his rib-cage. Tom was still speaking but he could no longer hear it; the moon was full, its light glinting in Tom’s hair and turning the colour to gold.  _ Would you have a wondrous sight? The mid-day sun at midnight.  _ The words sprang to the front of his mind quite suddenly, and he thought he had heard them sung somewhere once, perhaps a pub or one of the ceilidhs they had gone to when he was young. He raised his hand, lacing his fingers through Tom’s, who glanced down and, when he looked up, leaned forwards to close the small gap between them. 

At first, despite knowing what was coming, John froze. Tom’s fingers curled around his neck, reached into his hair, held him close, and John felt the tension in his body dissipate as he responded, taking Tom’s face in his hands and running a thumb along the bone underneath his eye. Their kiss, which had begun almost cautiously, was now a stronger, surer thing, and it was only when John could not breathe that he broke it. Still less than an inch from his face, Tom was smiling wider than John had ever seen, warmth and joy shining in his eyes. John could have wept then, for the sharp awareness of loving and being loved was nearly overwhelming, welling up inside him as if from a spring which had never before flowed freely. He kissed Tom again, sliding his arms around him and drawing him closer until they were all but wrapped around each other. Against his mouth Tom gave a soft sigh of contentment, and, barely breaking the kiss, asked, ‘Have you been wanting to do this a very long time?’

‘I don’t know,’ John whispered, and he truly did not. He could not pick the exact time his enjoyment of their friendship had been shot through with the desire for something more; it had, he supposed, been a gradual thing, subtle enough not to notice until now. ‘But I’m glad I did.’

‘So am I.’ Tom laughed, pressing his forehead down against John’s. ‘I wish you could stay the rest of the night.’

‘When it’s warmer,’ John promised, ‘and there’s no chance of me turning into an icicle.’ They remained in each other’s arms a short time longer, and then, as the moon hid behind a single scudding cloud, exchanged a final kiss and John left for home. As he walked back through the trees, he could not help but laugh aloud to no one. Giddiness was strange to him, and he felt as if he might begin to dance on the air at any moment. But his feet stayed firmly on the ground, and he did not sleep well, for his mind and heart were too full to let him rest.

***

February turned to March, and with the latter came an unexpected gust of warm weather, more suited to May or June than March. On the first day of it, when the sun shone down bright and made the air almost hot, John was tempted to forget his run into the nearest town, but as he was in great need of flour, he reluctantly went on past the lake and out of the woods entirely to the main road. Tom was not at the lake when he passed -- flown off somewhere, John supposed, to enjoy the sunlight better. By the time he returned home, the sun was casting dark gold light between the tree-trunks, and by the time he once again left, this time for the lake, it had set entirely, though the air was no less warm.

When he came to the lake, he found Tom standing waist-deep in the water. ‘Come on in,’ he called eagerly. ‘It’s not so cold.’ John knelt at the edge of the shore, running his hand along the surface. It was indeed cool rather than freezing cold, as it had been but a week ago, but even so he hesitated. He had never undressed completely before anyone save for his family, who had never taken a second glance. But he did want to go in, for even though he had swum in the lake many a time, he had not done so in years, and Tom’s presence would distinguish it from all the others. So he shed his clothing, and slid into the water. Tom extended a hand and John took it as the lake’s floor sloped downwards and vanished beneath his feet. When they reached the middle of the lake, Tom let go, took in a deep breath, and, without a word, disappeared beneath the surface. John followed, shutting his eyes as he went under, and felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, opening his eyes by instinct, and saw Tom floating before him in-between two tall green, fern-like plants. Once again by instinct John reached for him, folding him in his arms and kissing him until his chest burned. Even then he did not want to let go; the feeling of being suspended, weightless, anchored to the earth by Tom’s lips on his was in that moment the sweetest thing in the world, and it was only when he could no longer ignore the tightness that he slipped out of their embrace and swam for the surface. Tom followed, breaking through the surface almost immediately after he did.

‘I wanted to show you the floor,’ he said, looking up at the sky, which was beginning to cloud over, ‘but it might be too dark now.’

‘That’s alright.’ John made for the shore and hauled himself out of the water. ‘You’ve all the time in the world to show me.’

‘Do I?’

‘Of course. I’m not going anywhere.’ Perhaps, John mused, if he had not met Tom, the restlessness would have gotten the best of him, and he would have left these woods for the town, or for Edinburgh. Now he had no wish to, for the wood and the lake had come alive for him in the past month, and he had found new beauty wherever he looked. Tom smiled and leaned over, and when John laid his hands on his chest, he could feel heat beneath the wet skin. Their kisses deepened, intensified; fell into a steady rhythm of breaking apart and coming back together, and somewhere in that time Tom lay back in the grass which was still winter-brown, his hands easing John on top of him. John, made bold by he knew not what, moved downward to kiss Tom’s neck, his throat, every inch of skin he could reach until Tom caught his face in his hands and pulled him back up to face him.

‘You do want to? I remember you said you’ve never--’

‘Yes,’ John gasped, and buried his face in the crook of Tom’s neck until he moaned. This he was certain of. He had waited for the person who loved him as much as he loved them, for the person he could lay himself completely bare to, and who would lay themself bare to him. And had they not done so, almost from the very moment they met? ‘And you?’

Tom’s eyes had darkened. ‘Yes,’ he said, once again lifting John’s face, this time to kiss him. ‘I do. You know what to do?’

‘I think. You tell me if I’m doing anything wrong.’ John, seeing no other option, placed two of his fingers into his mouth before sliding one of them in-between Tom’s legs. ‘This is alright?’ Tom nodded, and after a moment passed John added the second, stopping abruptly when he heard Tom hiss. ‘I’m hurting you?’

‘It’s not pain, exactly,’ Tom said, ‘but I’ve not done this in a while. Don’t stop; I’ll be alright soon.’ John nodded and continued his movements, until Tom tapped his shoulder. ‘I’m ready, now,’ he murmured, cupping John’s face in his hands, speaking almost against his mouth. ‘Go on.’

John gazed down at him, and, bracing himself, went ahead as slowly and carefully as he could. At first Tom made no sound, and he worried that he was doing something wrong, but then he shifted himself slightly, and Tom moaned again, quieter than before, his fingers curling against the back of John’s shoulders. There was the sound of something babbling, and John realised it was him; words were spilling from him faster than he could understand.  _ You are a garden spring, a well of fresh water,  _ he was murmuring, his mouth pressed against Tom’s ear, _ a rill of Lebanon;  _ and when Tom pressed a hand over his mouth, tears streaming down his face, John kissed them away and tasted salt on his tongue.  _ My beloved is mine and I am his, who browse among the lilies.  _

It was for the both of them pleasurable, but over sooner than he had thought it would be, and Tom lay against his chest, already asleep. John had no need to remove himself and go back to the house; the night was still warm, and he could sleep here without trouble. As his eyes grew heavier, he ran a hand through Tom’s hair, and yet more words rose unbidden to his lips.  _ My beloved spoke thus to me, ‘Arise my darling; my fair one, come away! For now the winter is past, the rains are over and gone. The blossoms have appeared in the land, the time of pruning has come; the song of the turtledove is heard in our land.’ _

This warmth was but a hint of the summer to come; the winter would return within a fortnight, if not sooner. But it was, for now, more than enough.

***

He was woken by the sunlight streaming through his eyelids, and was at first confused before he opened his eyes and remembered the last night. Tom was no longer in his arms; he stood above him, and made a noise that John assumed was happy when he sat up. The unseasonable weather was still holding, and as John dressed, an idea occurred to him.

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ he asked Tom, who by way of answer spread his wings and took to the air. John watched him for a moment, amazed by the unhurried grace with which he flew. He pulled on his shoes and started the way he always went, back towards his house, and then turned around, heading forwards for the road. ‘This way!’ he called, and Tom swooped ahead before circling back to join him at a more leisurely pace.  _ ‘Hurry, my beloved, swift as a gazelle or a young stag’ --  _ no, a swan, John thought giddily as they both began to move faster --  _ ‘to the hills of spices!’ _

_ ‘If I told you about them, what would I say? That they lived happily ever after? I believe they did. That they remained in love? I’m sure that’s true. But when I think of them, the only thing that comes to mind is a poem, whispered by someone in love, hundreds of years ago: “Unable to perceive the shape of You, I find You all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with Your love, It humbles my heart, For You are everywhere.” ’ _

\-- Giles in  _ The Shape of Water,  _ by Guillermo del Toro and Vanessa Taylor

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The quotes in italics, in order: 'Would you have a wondrous sight? The midday sun at midnight' is from 'Willow's Song' in the 1973 film 'The Wicker Man', written by Paul Giovanni. The other quotes, in the third and fourth sections, are from the Song of Songs (4:15, 2:16, 2:10-12, and 8:14). The translation I used can be found here: https://www.sefaria.org/Song_of_Songs.1?lang=bi.  
> 2\. The last quote is slightly altered from the original text; it actually goes: 'If I told you about her, what would I say? That they lived happily ever after? I believe they did. That they were in love? That they remained in love? I'm sure that's true. But when I think of her -- of Elisa -- the only thing that comes to mind is a poem, whispered by someone in love, hundreds of years ago: "Unable to perceive the shape of You, I find You all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with Your love, It humbles my heart, For You are everywhere."'


End file.
